


It's Like a Hiccup-cup Come...

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Written in 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Jensen has hiccups and Jared is <em>only</em> trying to help...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Like a Hiccup-cup Come...

“Please, tell me you’ve got the *hiccup* keys,” Jensen sighs wearily as he looks up at Jared hopefully, searching the pockets of his hoodie and jeans for the missing objects. “’Cause I sure as hell can’t find *hiccup* mine.”

Using his elbow to shut the door on his side of the car, Jared walks around, meeting Jensen in the middle of the driveway. “I got them,” he grins sweetly, rolling the silver ring around his index finger. “And I’ve got yours too.” He raises his hand to wave Clif goodbye through the back window of the SUV, and then reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out another bundle of keys.

Jensen’s forehead crinkles with perplexity and doubts, and he eyes Jared suspiciously, like he just can’t understand how his keys came to be in Jared’s possession. He’s so lost in his confusion, he nearly misses Jared’s shout of, “Think fast!”, and manages to catch the keys thrown in his direction at the very last moment, just before they hit his chin.

“You left them on the kitchen table,” Jared explains, entirely ignoring the murderous look Jensen sends him. “Next to the breakfast you forgot to eat.”

“What’re you talking ‘bout?” Jensen inquires, aggrieved, as he searches his keys for the right one, sounding and looking so much like Dean that, for a second, Jared thinks he’s having a déjà vu moment. “I *hiccup* ate.”

“Then you’re the only one who calls swallowing two mouthfuls of scrambled eggs eating.”

Jensen rolls his eyes at Jared’s excessive nagging and adjusts the knapsack on his shoulder, heading straight for the front door without looking back. “Dude, *hiccup* you’re seriously worse than my mom,” he complains. “And, *hiccup* trust me, that means a lot.”

“Well,” Jared shrugs, before he sets off to the post-box to pick up their mail. “Someone apparently has to take care of you,” he rationalizes. “Obviously.”

“Don’t know whe-- *hiccup* --re you get _that_ ,” Jensen mumbles when he finally fits the key into the hole and the lock eases off with an audible click. He opens the door and steps aside, letting Jared take the front line of the dogs’ attack, because they are Jared’s after all, before he remembers that Harley and Sadie are still with their dog sitter, and shakes his head at his forgetfulness.

“Kinda a novel feeling, right?” Jared notes, noticing Jensen’s bewildered expression. “But don’t worry, they’ll be home soon.”

The streetlamp above his head flickers alight with a sputtering noise, and Jared looks up, watching the naïve moth restlessly circle the lethal trap.

It’s only just getting dark. The sun is still a visible smear on the horizon, bathing the adjoining neighborhood in its fiery red glow; its color not dissimilar to the fallen leaves drifting through the street with the mild, but chilly October wind. The twilight is a rare, but very welcomed, change in their groovy routine, which for the last two weeks had consisted of getting home just before, or just after, midnight.

“Forgot to thank you for getting us home earlier,” Jared calls out when he finally follows Jensen into the warmth of the house, keeping his voice loud as he momentarily has no idea where the other man is.

“You’re *hiccup* welcome,” comes the slightly muffled reply from down the corridor where Jensen’s bedroom is. His tone is more than slightly bitter and dripping with sarcasm.

“I’ll hit the *hiccup* shower,” Jensen announces when he reappears, passing Jared on his way to the other bathroom. He’s barefooted and stripped to jeans and a T-shirt only, and Jared pauses to wonder how long he’s actually taken gathering the mail.

“Hey, you mind pizza?” Jared yells after him, trying to remember what other digestible remnants might be left of their very limited food provisions. “I think there’s one forgotten in the freezer. Or some pasta... maybe.”

“Pizza’s good.” Jensen answers shortly, and Jared finds himself waiting for the seemingly unavoidable hiccup. It comes just before the door closes behind Jensen with a loud thud, which resonates through the whole building and makes the windows rattle with Jensen’s obvious irritation, and Jared chuckles.

Moving through the house to change into more comfortable clothes, and put the pizza into the oven, Jared can still hear Jensen hiccuping, as it echoes, unbelievably well, against the tiled-walls of the small bathroom. He sighs and bites onto his tongue to keep himself from laughing, because it’s not even funny anymore.

 

Jensen’s been hiccuping for more than three hours, without any indication it was planning to cease any time soon, and as a result he’s been unable to deliver one full line without interruption.

They’d tried every guaranteed and proven method to stop it, to try to silence Jensen and keep Dean going, but nothing had worked. Taking a deep breath and holding it was hardly feasible when Jensen was already nearly breathless from the tears that Dean had shed through the afternoon. When he tried to swallow a few sips of cold water, he managed two, and then he hiccuped again, and choked, sputtering the rest of the water on the poor PA standing in front of him. He spent the next five minutes apologizing, while the rest of the crew was practically dead with laughter. He tried gargling salt water, managed to make his mouth completely numb after a couple of minutes, but the hiccups were still refusing to give up. Jared even tried to startle Jensen and scare them away, but Jensen only yelped when Jared jumped on him from around the corner, and dropped his treasured and long-awaited coffee to the ground, staining his, _Dean’s_ , jeans with the hot, dark liquid. He slapped Jared with the sleeve of Dean’s jacket that he’d been pulling on, called him a jerk, and then wandered away to get himself a new dose of caffeine.

Eventually, when it seemed that Jensen was only hiccuping far more frequently than he’d been at the start, they decided that all efforts were apparently entirely useless, and the director dismissed the crew for the rest of the day. Because the only scene scheduled for the evening was one of the long, heartbreaking dialogues between the brothers. And Dean wasn’t supposed to hiccup after every fifth word.

 

“Need some help?” Jensen asks drowsily when he shuffles into the kitchen, the hiccups betraying his arrival from the moment he re-opened the door of the bathroom.

“Cut the tomatoes, maybe?” Jared calls, pausing briefly in grating the cheese to glance up at Jensen and then point to the washed vegetable resting in the colander. “The pizza’s kinda poor.”

“Okay,” Jensen nods as he picks up the sharp knife, then pauses suspiciously. “You sure the dinner *hiccup* won’t kill us?”

“Don’t worry,” Jared smirks, looking at the shorter man for a moment before returning to the task at his hand. “It’s eatable.”

“Everythin’s eatable,” Jensen replies smartly as he points at Jared with the tip of the knife, putting on a dead serious look. “Some things only *hiccup* once though.”

It’s such _Jensen logic_ and a _Jensen thing_ to say that Jared has to laugh, despite the unfriendly accusation. “If I knew it was gonna kill you, I probably wouldn’t dare to eat it too, now would I?”

“You didn’t eat it *hiccup* yet,” Jensen remarks aptly. “Besides, your stomach is a freakin’ machine, *hiccup* man. It’d digest cement.”

Five minutes later, after Jensen hisses for the at least third time when the knife slides down the rounded tomato and cuts into the flesh of his slender fingers, Jared decides that giving Jensen a sharp object into his hands when his whole body is jerking almost every freaking minute wasn’t such a good idea.

“You know,” he starts carefully, expecting Jensen to finally snap at any minute, irritated by his _infliction_ and all the jokes he’s been the butt of during the day. “I think I’ll do it myself. I love meat, but I’m not a cannibal.”

Jensen hiccups and, to Jared’s surprise, sets the knife back onto the counter calmly, slowly, with a cold, calculated movement. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Jens.”

“I-I’m tired,” Jensen murmurs evasively, as he waves his hand in an eloquent gesture, walking out of the kitchen. “Bon appe--*hiccup*--tite.*

 

Fifteen minutes later there’s a knock on the door of Jensen’s bedroom. Before he has a chance to say ‘Come in’, or rather ‘Keep out’, the door opens and bangs against the opposite wall at Jared’s theatrical and rather furious entrance.

“You know I hate eating alo--” Jared strikes up accusingly, and then trails off, pursing his lips in surprise at the sight of Jensen’s bare feet dangling in the air and his _little, pretty_ , jean-clad ass on display.

“Dude,” Jensen says blackly from somewhere down where his head is. His voice is barely audible, and Jared’s not sure whether he’s actually talking to him, or to the something he’s trying to grab from the floor on the other side of his bed. “Could you just *hiccup* once enter the room like a normal human being, and not like a Sasquatch on a *hiccup* high?”

He shifts a little forward to reach further, and Jared’s throat goes suddenly, and entirely _unreasonably_ , dry. Unconsciously, he wonders whether Jensen knows about the not-so-little hole in the denim just under the seam of the left back pocket that subtly, and yet very deliberately, reveals the black fabric underneath. Not that Jared is looking _right there_ , or something.

Finally Jensen resurfaces, holding a green apple in one hand, and a book with slightly creased pages in the other, and sits up, completely oblivious to Jared’s sudden, and very unnatural, silence. He folds his legs underneath him and adjusts the old, rather battered glasses on his nose, and then puts the apple into his mouth to free both of his hands. He starts to carefully and gently iron out the sheets of the book. Idly, Jared realizes that the crumpled pages are probably his fault, because Jensen normally – naturally - doesn’t throw books underneath his bed. After a while, and more or less satisfied, Jensen sets the open book onto his lap and takes a bite of the apple, turning a page, looking for the one he was reading before Jared burst in, and quite possibly forgetting that Jared is still there. His movements are fluent and mild, and without the occasional hiccuping noises, Jared would almost believe he’s watching a silent movie. Sensing the odd, not-complete silence, and the presence of another person, Jensen looks up at Jared eventually, and cocks his head to the side slightly, questioning silently.

“Uh.” Jared says, _so_ brightly, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, making the timber floor underneath him moan quietly, and struggling to recall what he was doing, and had actually intended to say, before his mind went, for no apparent reason, totally blank.

He remembers the slices of pizza resting on the plate in his hand, probably only thanks to the smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce tickling his senses, and puts one foot in front of the other, moving forward, somewhere, somehow, in a robotic manner. He sets the pizza on the edge of the nightstand, and then flops down onto the bed beside Jensen, making the mattress dip at one side and lift up a little at the other, scattering Jensen’s balance a bit.

“This is your dinner?” he asks with a doubtful, almost unfriendly, glare at the half-eaten, shiny green apple in Jensen’s hand.

Jensen follows Jared’s gaze, scowling at the contemptuous tone in his voice, and looks at the fruit uncomprehendingly, not really understanding why Jared is so offended by it. He opens his mouth to tell him off swiftly, but Jared’s name gets lost in another hiccup, and instead of a curse, Jensen lets out a long, tired sigh, and shakes his head.

“You know,” Jared starts, philosophically and somewhat seriously after Jensen has returned to his reading, no longer disturbed by Jared – a little too used to his annoying tendencies by now. “You’re one weird animal.”

Jensen’s hand hovers above the tiny, organized dots of writing and he places his index finger on one particular word, then raises his eyes to Jared’s, puzzled and curious to see where Jared’s heading with that statement. “What?”

“You’re seriously the only person I know who’s absolutely immune to all proven hiccup remedies. I mean, sugar, not breathin’, breathin’ into a paper bag, shock... hell, even this stupid apple should help, but nada, you just happily hiccup on.”

“Happily?” Jensen repeats, raising one eyebrow in disbelief.

“Figuratively speakin’.”

“Very figu-- *hiccup* --ratively.”

Jared chuckles in agreement and leans back to reach for the pizza, stuffing his mouth full with half of one of the triangles, and pushing the plate under Jensen’s nose.

Jensen’s eyes are fixed back on the page of his book, and his mind focused on the story unwinding in front of him and in his imagination. His calmness is slightly irritating to Jared, because his body is still bouncing with energy, and his brain buzzing; like he’s still ready, still waiting to deliver the emotions and words he had prepared for Sam. Lines and feelings that he needs to keep, so he can deliver them tomorrow.

Jensen shakes his head at the offered food, not even sparing Jared a single quick glance, and Jared smiles. “Are you on hunger-strike?”

“Yeah,” Jensen smirks coolly, looking up briefly. “I’m tryin’ to starve the *hiccup* hiccup to death.”

“Well, bang up job on that,” Jared comments dryly, as he sets the plate back on the nightstand and leans in the opposite direction, right in front of Jensen, so he’s pretty close to falling off the bed. His fingers wrap around the rim of the book in Jensen’s hand, and he pushes it up a little so he can see the cover of it.

“Robert Merle _Malevil_ ,” he announces feelingly, making Jensen narrow his eyes warningly, all to no avail, because Jared only shimmies a little, until he’s settled more comfortably, and stretches his long body on the bed. He manages to elbow Jensen in the knee in the process. Hard. “I’ve got this vague feeling that I was actually supposed to read it at school,” he recalls thoughtfully. “Is it good?”

“Scary,” Jensen replies shortly around a mouthful of the apple, speaking just above the rustle of paper as he turns another page.

“Like supernatural scary?”

“Like humans-are-the-most-stupid-and-dangerous-animal-that-ever-walked-the-Earth scary.”

“Dude,” Jared lets out in awe, propping himself up onto his elbows. “That was seriously the longest sentence you’ve said today. And you didn’t even--”

*hiccup*

“—hiccup. Well, fuck that.”

Jensen nods in approval, and Jared sinks back onto the bed, disappointed, resting his head against Jensen’s thigh, and watching him from that awkward angle for a while. Jensen’s eyes are lowered as they run over the lines, so much it looks like they’re completely closed, and the long shadows of those unbelievable eyelashes of his fall onto his gently freckled cheeks. His perfectly shaped eyebrows are knitted together at the obviously vivid and thrilling story line, his lips a little pursed in a thoughtful line. He looks far. Far from Jared, and from the nearly apocalyptic boredom that is gnawing at him.

“You look hot in glasses,” Jared blurts out all of a sudden, as he forgets to keep his secret thoughts _secret_.

Because he’s got a thing for Jensen’s glasses. And his freckles. And if he was brave enough, which he’s not, and definitely not when it comes to _this_ and this man, he’d maybe admit he’s got a thing for Jensen, too.

Jensen stops reading and raises his head, looking in front of him, perplexed, as though wondering where that came from and whether he’s hearing right. His eyes slide down to Jared and he frowns. “Huh?”

“The-the f-fans say so.”

“The-the f-fans say so?” Jensen parrots, amused, and Jared shoves him. Because he can, and because Jensen deserves it; for the mockery, and for his quietness and complete non-participation in curing Jared’s boredom.  
Jensen shoves him back and returns to the book, causing Jared to glide down back to his moping for long minutes.

Jensen is hiccuping, but otherwise silent; a stable pillow of warmth underneath Jared, reminding him of the home that he’s left so far behind, and it scares him again, just how close they are, how simple their friendship is, and how much it means to him. How much _Jensen_ means to him, and how lost he’d be without him in this _A Mari Usque Ad Mare_ land. They’d clicked so well, practically immediately the moment they’d met, and since then, they’ve been complementing each other in so many ways that it seemed they were each other’s maverick brother.

If Jared was really honest with himself though, he’d be able to admit that it’s been a while since he looked at Jensen in the innocent, brotherly kind of way, without staring at the soft-looking, full lips and imagining how they’d feel underneath his own. Without thinking how smooth the freckled skin would be under his finger pads. Without drowning in the green gaze, when Jensen’s eyes settle on his own in a highly focused stare, giving him his full attention and listening with all of his senses, which only Jensen seems to be able to. Or at least it feels like that the times he looks at Jared with a concentrated, almost frown that causes something in Jared’s stomach to flutter.

It doesn’t matter that the damp mess on Jensen’s head currently reminds Jared of an abandoned sparrow’s nest rather than a real hair. Or that his favorite, and by now, already threadbare, once-white T-shirt, with a tiny Dallas logo on the left side of his chest is one size too tight, showing every ripple of muscle and knob of bone stretched underneath the soft fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. Although Jared’s eyes still linger, now and again, trying to see even more of the pale skin under. Or that his jeans are maybe two sizes too loose and riding way too low, and that they have definitely seen better days, quite probably even the Dead Sea back when it was still sick. Jared absolutely doesn’t care about these little things, these fine hints at imperfection that try to taint the image of Jensen he carries inside of him, because they simply don’t work.

When Jensen reaches out and his fingers bury in Jared’s hair, probing the dark, silky strands gently and mindlessly, almost like he’s petting a dog, as he’d do if it was Sadie or Harley’s head lying on his leg, Jared barely suppresses the urgency to purr like a content kitty. He tells himself it’s an innocent gesture, that it doesn’t mean anything. That it only reflects the many nights when one, or both, of them dozed off in front of the TV, leaning against the other, lulled by the warmth and proximity of another living creature after the long, exhausting hours of shooting out in the inhuman winter in Canada. But it still feels nice.

“Man,” Jared sighs after a while as he lifts off Jensen and sits up, blinking away the tiredness and sleep that has nearly taken him under. “This is gettin’ seriously annoyin’.”

Jensen drags his eyes off the page and glances sideways at Jared, as though wondering what he’s talking about now. When he hiccups again and Jared tilts his head to the side pointedly, Jensen scowls.

“Well, I’m truly sorry that I’m botherin’ you, ‘cause *hiccup* I’m really enjoyin’ this,” he snaps, as he closes the book with a loud slap, and sets it aside. Finally. Just when Jared thought that Jensen simply doesn’t have it in himself. Not today. “’Cause I seriously haven’t *hiccup* felt that awesome for a really long *hiccup* time. But no one says you gotta be *hiccup* here and stealin’ my precious oxyg--”

The touch of Jared’s mouth on Jensen’s, which brave people (one of whom Jared momentarily doesn’t count himself) would probably dare to describe as a kiss, albeit a very chaste one, and which cuts off the rest of Jensen’s speech, doesn’t flabbergast only Jensen, who just abruptly stops and lets the forgotten words die against Jared’s lips, but also Jared himself. He secretly, and very unobtrusively, freaks out on the inside.

He pulls back, and as far from Jensen as the bed allows, not daring to breathe, or perhaps simply unable to draw in a single gulp of breath; too startled and panicked by his own insolent courage, and what Jensen’s reaction and answer will be. Jensen’s lips open on a wordless question and he blinks, leisurely, like only tasting that movement, the very basic principle of it. Three seconds later, he hiccups, and Jared growls in frustration and lets his head thud against the wall behind him, not hazarding to look up and see what Jensen’s eyes might say now, when the shock has at least partly subsided.

It might be a minute, or a whole hour, before Jensen takes a long, shallow breath and audibly swallows. In the corner of his eye, Jared catches Jensen turning his head in his direction.

“Wha-what the hell was *hiccup* that?” Jensen asks. His tone is neutral, giving away absolutely nothing, no hint of anger or disgust, not disappointment, just a faint taste of surprise.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jared replies blankly, studying the interesting pattern of Jensen’s bed-clothes, some Chinese symbols that tell Jared as much as the Latin he had to learn for Sam. “It didn’t work anyway.”

Jensen nods, hesitantly. “Aha,” he says comprehensively. Like it’s not awkward at all. Like it’s all the explanation he needs and could ask for. Like it’s not weird, not even a little.

Jared glances to the side, just in time to see the tip of Jensen’s pink tongue flicker across the edge of his bottom lip, as though he’s tasting the flavor Jared has left. As though he’s wondering if there even is something to taste. It’s an automatic gesture, Jensen’s innocent, trivial habit, but it makes Jared’s blood rush to inappropriate places as fast as never before.

Jensen takes one last bite of his apple and then gets up onto his knees to throw the core into the garbage can at the opposite side of the room. It hits the inner rim of it with a soft flapping noise and the crackling of the plastic bag, followed by a dull thud as it hits the bottom. Not that Jared is capable of paying any attention to it, or anything else for that matter, except the firm ass and the provocative hole in the jeans, right there again. In front of his eyes.

It’s just Jared’s _bad_ luck, or God’s twisted sense of humor, that Jensen has leaned forward a little too much, making the mattress sag down and slowly give under his knee, sending him further forward. He’s way too close to falling face down on the ground and receiving a nice carpet burn on his cheek. But Jared is watching, _was_ incidentally watching all the time, so when Jensen stirs another inch forward, in despite his vehement efforts to regain his balance, and lets out this startled, slightly panicked _Oh!_ , Jared’s fingers are already hooked in the loops of Jensen’s jeans, tugging him back.

“Thank you,” Jensen breathes out with relief as he lands safely on his butt, nearly in Jared’s lap, instead of on the carpet he was almost ready to make friends with. Only then Jared somehow forgets to move his hands off Jensen, and honestly doesn’t even consider pulling away.

“Jay, you can - you can-,” Jensen mumbles, sounding a bit uncomfortable and nervous, and shimmies a little in an attempt to get off Jared. And that movement is probably just as good as it’s bad. “I’m good... *hiccup* I’m--”.

“I-I know.” Jared falters. In the very back of his mind he’s aware of the fact that he has to release Jensen, at once, _well eventually_ , but his fingers seem to have a mind of their own, and instead of letting go, they tighten their grip on Jensen. “I know.”

Because Jensen is close, so _freaking_ close. Warm and solid, sitting just like he was a few minutes ago, on Jared’s bent knee and with his hand on Jared’s thigh for support. Their legs are oddly, almost mystically, entwined and he can’t move until Jared does. And Jared seriously _can’t_. Jensen smells like... _Jensen_. Like a fresh soap, with a strong undertone of ocean, of warmth, and of just the fragrance of his skin that is slowly, but surely, driving Jared nuts.

Confused that Jared isn’t letting him up, and is instead keeping him in place, Jensen turns slightly to look at him. He pauses and swallows, throat constricting at the look in Jared’s eyes. And Jared’s sure that he knows what Jensen sees – hunger, want and love, and none of anything that Jared ever wanted him to see and know. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move; just stares back at Jared with this blank, unreadable expression, like he’s bewitched.

“I think I... didn’t do it right,” Jared beeps then, walking on the very edge of the tiniest layer of ice, but too scared that this might be his only chance.

“Huh?” Jensen questions absently, dragging his eyes off Jared’s mouth that he was watching move, but clearly hadn’t got a sense of what Jared was really saying. He tugs his bottom lip in between his pearly white teeth thoughtfully, unconsciously zooming Jared’s attention right to the swollen flesh. “What?”

“When Sandy had hiccups,” Jared starts explaining seriously, even sounding to his own ears like a scientist who might have just invented a cure for mortality. “A kiss would always help. Real... kiss.”

“You mean you... wanna... you wa-- *hiccup* --nna--?”

Hell yeah, Jared _wanna_. Jared wanna a lot.

“It’s a - it’s a probably the only thing we... haven’t tried yet.” He shrugs, trying to play it cool and not sound as desperately hopeful as he feels. “It used to work.” So what if he’s laying it on a little thick. No one with common sense and at least one healthy eye could blame him.

“Oh.”

“But if you - you know, don’t want to and wanna, y’know, keep hiccupin’... Y'know...”

“A kiss,” Jensen repeats, arching his eyebrow sceptically.

“A kiss,” Jared confirms with a nod, leaning just that little closer. “Just a... kiss,” he whispers breathlessly, his lips only inches from Jensen’s.

Jensen puts his hand on Jared’s chest, halting him and keeping at arm’s length, and that might not be the best of places, because there’s just no possibility that he can’t feel the rapid and absolutely uncontrolled thumping of Jared’s heart underneath his palm. He looks like he wants to protest, like he thinks that he should protest, but can’t really remember why.

Jared doesn’t know what Jensen sees in his eyes this time, although he’s staring into them so intently it’s almost scary, but it must be something that tells him that he’s safe, that it’s okay, because then he gathers a handful of Jared’s T-shirt, and just holds it. He tilts his head to the side, almost unnoticeable, but just enough so their noses don’t bump when their lips finally meet with, in Jared’s opinion, maddening slowness.

Jensen lets out a shuddering breath and that noise sinks right under Jared’s skin, causing his stomach to do somersaults, and he feels almost dizzy with how much he wants to take it further, and yet enjoy just the sense of Jensen’s burning and from the apple juice slightly sticky lips under his own.

Unable to hold back any longer, Jared pushes the tip of his tongue forward, tentatively, almost lazily, like he isn’t close to walking out of his own skin at any moment, seeking the thin chink in between Jensen’s lips, which part almost immediately under his touch, opening up to Jared and inviting him in. This time it’s Jared’s turn to sigh, practically snarl, at the silky heat that embraces his tongue, and his fingers finally let loose Jensen’s jeans, only so his hands can slide to Jensen’s waist and seize his hips, pulling him closer.

Then Jensen hiccups, and Jared can feel the twitch compressing Jensen’s body literally echo through his own, accompanied by a strangled sound that gets completely lost inside his mouth. He’s about to pull away, admit that he and his would-be medicine also failed to cure Jensen, but Jensen’s fingers come to splay at the nape of his neck, keeping Jared firmly in place, and even pulling a wee bit nearer, and he does something unexpected with his tongue that drags a pained growl from the back of Jared’s throat, and... _Oh, shit_.

A moment later, when Jared’s sure he’s gonna die from the lack of oxygen, and almost welcoming it if it means kissing Jensen, _kissing Jensen!_ , for a little longer, Jensen breaks the kiss, leaning back and making Jared’s mouth follow his for a few blind inches. He straightens up and quickly blinks a few times, until he sweeps his eyelashes upward, trying to focus on Jared. His face is flushed and his lips swollen and colored a darker shade of pink, and he’s watching Jared with a sharp, darker gaze through half-lidded eyes. He’s taking short, fast gasps of air, looking dazed and a bit out of the place, but gorgeous. Surprisingly even more than before. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a warm puff of breath, so he clears his throat and tries again, although his voice is breathless and his words rather incoherent. “Jay, I – we-we... this... I’m--”

Jared’s sure that there’s a real sentence hiding somewhere behind the skittish speech, just as he’s certain that he won’t like the meaning of it, so he brushes his lips against Jensen’s again, nipping gently at his lower lip with his teeth, and endeavoring to keep the unwelcome words at bay for a few more moments. Oddly enough, it works pretty well.

 

“You made it up, didn’t you?” Jensen says then. It’s not so much a question as a notification; a bit surprised, but like Jensen expected it, like he’d known all the time.

He frowns pensively, realizing practically in the same moment as Jared that he isn’t hiccuping, and hasn’t really for a while, and with a smile, Jared watches Jensen’s baffled expression change to an amused grin. “Jay?”

“Does it really matter?” Jared asks, the pad of his thumb rubbing leisurely at the sliver of exposed skin peering above the waistband of Jensen’s jeans. “It worked.”

“Maybe it just ran away from your awful jokes,” Jensen suggests teasingly, before he lours, dumbfounded. “You tricked me...,” he states. “Why?”

“I think...” Jared begins, but then he swallows hard and trails off, because what can he even say? He might have just ruined the best friendship he’s ever had, trampled it into the dust, along with Jensen’s trust, all for a kiss, or two, for a taste of dreams coming true that, exposed to the daylight, fall to pieces. But... Jensen had kissed him back, and boy can he kiss, and then there’s this unique flare in Jensen’s eyes, this kind of twinkling sparkle that Jared has definitely never seen there before, hinting that maybe... “I think for the same reason you didn’t pull back. Even though you knew.”

“You mean, you...?” Jensen asks quietly, unsure. And isn’t it just adorable how he’s unable to create one meaningful sentence. He finally releases Jared’s T-shirt and drops his hand into his lap.

“Like you?” Jared dares to guess. He raises his hand to Jensen’s face, tracing one high cheekbone with his finger. “Very much so.”

“I didn’t know,” Jensen admits, after a brief moment of obviously intense thoughts, looking like he feels utterly guilty for that.

“And now... when you do?”

Jensen blushes, he really does, and drops his gaze for a second. When he looks up again, he’s smiling softly. That kind of smile that makes him look a good ten years younger. He doesn’t say a word, just reaches out, slipping his hand down Jared’s face, like he’s mapping and learning the curves, and pushes the stray hair out of Jared’s eyes and behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. Jared sighs and his eyes drift close at the gentleness of the touch he’s been craving without even knowing. Then Jensen leans closer, sliding his lips along Jared’s cheek until they reach his ear, and he sinks his teeth in Jared’s earlobe, gently and yet enough to make him shudder in response, and whispers simply, “I like you, too.”


End file.
